“I ask that over the next few days or week you pay close attention to the defense’s case. You’ve heard only one side of the story so far — the prosecution’s side. But now you are going to hear and see another side. You are going to see that there are two victims in this case. Gloria Dayton, of course, is a victim. But so, too, is Andre La Cosse. Like Gloria he was manipulated and used. She was murdered and Andre has been set up to take the fall for it.
“Realistically, my job here is to sow the seeds of doubt in your mind. If you have reasonable doubt when it comes to Andre’s guilt or innocence, then it is your job to find the defendant not guilty. But over the next few days I will go beyond that, and you will come with me. You will come to know that Andre is completely innocent. And you will come to know who really committed this terrible crime.”
I paused here but kept my eyes moving across the faces of the jurors. I had them. I could tell.
“Now, before closing, let me just address something that I’m sure has bothered you throughout the presentation of the prosecution’s case. That is Mr. La Cosse’s means of making a living. To tell you the truth, it bothers me, too. Essentially, he’s a digital pimp. And, like many of you, I am a parent, and it disturbs me to think about someone profiting from the sexual exploitation of young women and men. But the verdict you will deliver in this case is not to be influenced by what Andre La Cosse does for a living. You cannot judge him guilty of murder simply because of what he is. I ask you to think of the victim in this case, Gloria Dayton, and ask yourself, did she deserve to be murdered because she was a prostitute? The answer of course is no, and so, too, is the answer to the question should Andre La Cosse be convicted of murder simply because he is a pimp?”
I paused, put my hands in my pocket, and looked down at the floor. It was time for the big finish. When I looked up, my eyes came directly to Mallory’s.
“In closing, I make you a promise that you can hold me to. If I do not make good on what I say here, then go ahead and find my client guilty. It’s a gamble I am willing to take, and that Andre is willing to take, because we know where the truth is. We have the righteousness of the innocent.”
I paused again, hoping Forsythe would throw out an objection. I wanted the jury to see him challenging me, trying to stop me from speaking the truth. But the prosecutor wasn’t off the first bus from law school. He knew what he was doing and he held back, not giving me what I wanted.
I moved on.
“The defense will put forth evidence and testimony that proves Mr. La Cosse is nothing more than a patsy. An innocent patsy in the worst kind of scheme. A scheme in which those we trust the most have conspired to frame an innocent man. This is a story about how a conspiracy to protect a hidden truth ultimately led to murder and cover-up. It is my hope”—I turned and used a hand gesture to indicate Andre La Cosse—“as it is Mr. La Cosse’s hope, that you will find the truth with us and return the appropriate verdict of not guilty. Thank you very much.”
I returned to my seat and immediately checked my notes to see if I had forgotten anything.
It looked like I had hit all the highlights, and that pleased me. Andre leaned over and whispered his thanks. I told him he hadn’t seen anything yet.
“I think we will now take the morning break,” the judge said. “When we come back in fifteen minutes we will begin the defense’s presentation.”
I stood as the jury got up, and watched them move single file through the door to the assembly room. I watched Mallory Gladwell move with her head down. Then, at the last moment, just as she was about to slip through the doorway and out of sight, she turned to look back into the courtroom. Her eyes landed on mine and held for the split second before she was gone.
As soon as the judge adjourned, I headed out to the courthouse hallway to check the status of my first witness.
30
The real reason I had fled the courtroom the moment the judge adjourned and the jury left was to get to the restroom. I had been up since four, thinking about the trial and readying myself for my opener. I had kept the fire stoked with copious amounts of coffee and now it was time to purge.
I saw Cisco sitting on a bench in the hallway next to Fernando Valenzuela.
“How we doing?” I asked as I walked by.
“We’re great,” Cisco replied.
“Yeah, sure,” Valenzuela said.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
A few minutes later relief was flooding through me as I stood at the urinal. I even had my eyes closed as I replayed some of the opening statement in my mind. I didn’t hear the restroom door open and didn’t realize someone had come up behind me. Just as I was zipping up, I was pushed face-first into the tiled wall over the urinal. My arms were pinned and I couldn’t move.
“Where’s your cartel protection now?”
I recognized the voice as well as the breath of coffee and cigarettes.
“Lankford, get the fuck off me.”
“You want to fuck with me, Haller? You want to do the dance?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you ruin this suit, I’m going to see the judge about it. My investigator’s sitting out there. He saw you come in.”
He yanked me off the wall and twirled me into the swinging door on a toilet stall. I recovered quickly and looked down at my suit to check for damage and buckle my belt. I did it nonchalantly like I wasn’t concerned in the least about Lankford’s menacing me.
“Go back to court, Lankford.”
“Why am I on the list? Why do you want me on the stand?”
I walked over to the row of sinks and calmly washed my hands.
“Why do you think?” I asked.
“That day in the office,” he said. “You said you saw me wearing a hat. Why the fuck would you say that?”
I looked up from my hands to the mirror and looked at him.
“I mentioned a hat?”
I reached over and pulled down a handful of paper towels to dry my hands.
“Yeah, you mentioned a hat. Why?”
I threw the wet towels in the trash can, turned, and then hesitated as though I was recalling something from the distant past. Then I looked at him and shook my head as though confused.
“I don’t know about the hat. But I know if you touch me again like that, you’re going to have more trouble than you can handle.”
I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, leaving Lankford behind. I could barely contain a smile as I approached Cisco, who was still on the bench with Valenzuela. The first rule of Marco Polo was to keep them guessing. Lankford would soon have more than his hat to worry about.
“Everything okay?” Cisco asked.
“Lankford try to grab your dick in there?” Valenzuela added.
“Yeah, something like that,” I said. “Let’s go in.”
I opened the door to the courtroom and held it for them. As they passed by me, I checked the hallway for Lankford and didn’t see him. But I did see my half brother walking down the hall, a thick blue binder under his arm.
“Harry.”
He turned without breaking stride and saw me. He smiled when he recognized me and stopped.
“Mick, how are you, man? How’s the arm?”
“It’s good. You in a trial?”
“Yeah, in one eleven.”
“Hey, that’s the one stealing all the media from my trial.”
I said it mock protest and smiled.
“It’s a cold case from ’ninety-four. A guy named Patrick Sewell — one sick puppy. They brought him down from San Quentin where he was already doing life for another murder. They’re going for the death penalty this time.”
I nodded but couldn’t bring myself to say good luck. He was, after all, working for the other side.